


one burn away

by carefulren



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Burned Hand Aftermath, Injury, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sickfic, Sort Of, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, Whumpfic, i'm not a doctor yall, set after ep 92, so like this is most likely medically inaccurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25757419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: Martin goes to Jon after Elias's confession and ends up treating his burned hand.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 218





	one burn away

Jon’s rummaging through the archives, briefly scanning statements he wants to take with him back to Georgie’s, the only distraction from his otherwise reeling mind. It’s almost funny, he thinks, how his mind has taken to an endless, internal monologue despite the very obvious pain drumming almost rhythmically against his temples. He’s lost in a whirlwind of how’s and what if’s, and the statements, he thinks... well, the statements may be the only drug that can temporarily take him away from himself.

“Jon?”

Jon jumps, not having heard the door open over the sound of his deep, frantic inner voice. He whips around, one file clutched a little too tightly to his chest, and sees Martin hovering in the doorway, almost as if he’s afraid to enter.

“Sorry,” Martin sputters softly. “I did knock.”

“It’s... fine,” Jon sighs out, the initial anger of being startled dissipating along a low breath. He studies Martin, eyes flicking all around for any sign of injury or distress, but Martin just looks hesitantly worried for him, and Jon finds that he has kind of missed that look.

“Are you alright?”

Though soft in tone, Jon can physically feel the weight behind each word in the short yet not so simple question. He debates on what he should tell Martin, or rather, if he should tell Martin anything, but his present, physical well-being comes back by a burning twinge across his burned hand from where he’s gripping the file too tightly. He hisses sharply between his teeth and lets the file fall from his hand.

“Jon! What’s wrong?” Martin’s already starting toward Jon, both hands reaching outward, and Jon quickly finds that his feet do not actually want to move, so, carefully, he extends his burned hand out away from where he’s had it cradled to his chest.

Martin’s fingers are incredibly gentle around Jon’s thin wrist, such a drastic contrast from the fear and worry so evident across his face.

“Oh, Jon... This... This doesn’t look good at all. Have you gone to get this looked over?” Martin’s careful as he twists Jon’s hand around, eyes sinking the more he takes in the angry red welts of what appears to be a rather aggressive burn.

“I haven’t had time,” Jon admits, detailing, to himself, the events of the last week that have taken up the time he should have been spending on looking after himself. “It’s been... Well, it’s been a week.” He laughs at this, small, bitter, yet alarmingly overwhelmed, and if not for Martin’s steady presence, he thinks he may just crumple to the floor. Still, his knees begin to shake, and Martin’s quick to catch on and guide him down into a chair.

“I’m going to get a first aid kit.”

“Martin,” Jon calls out, stopping Martin at the door.

Martin freezes and looks over his shoulder, his face an undistinguishable mess of emotions, and Jon swallows back the practiced words of “I’m fine,” saying instead, “thank you.”

The panic that flicks across Martin’s eyes doesn’t go unnoticed, and Jon quietly berates himself for always worrying his staff as Martin quickly disappears down the hall. He sinks back against his chair with a groan and cradles his hand to chest once more. For just a moment, he allows his head to tilt back against the chair until he’s starting at the dusty ceiling. He feels weak. He thought, considering Elias’s confession, that he would feel better now that he’s physically inside the archives, but he still feels relatively weak and slightly panicked. There’s a tightness pressing against his lungs, and he can only pin that on the apparent need to record statements.

“You’re still here, Jon.”

Jon musters up as much energy as he can to cast a sharp, dangerous gaze to Elias, who’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed casually.

“What do you want, Elias?”

“I didn’t see you leave. I was curious to know why you’re still here.”

“I’m-”

“He’s here for me.”

Jon’s jaw snaps shut, and he leans forward, eager, curious, for he’s never heard Martin speak with a tone of finality such as that. He watches, both brows raised, as Martin squeezes past Elias to get into the archives, and he’s unable to pry his eyes away as Martin drops to a crouch in front of him and opens the first aid kit.

“You’re hurt-”

“Will that be all, Elias?”

Martin looks over his shoulder toward Elias, and Jon can make out the tension tightening Martin’s muscles through the sudden defensive, stiffness of Martin’s back and shoulders. 

Jon holds his breath, almost afraid to see the scene play out, but Elias lets his arms fall to his side in a visble show of defeat.

“Of course. I’m sure you’ll see that Jon is tended to.” He disappears down the hall, and Jon swallows thickly, a lump forming in his throat. 

Martin’s uncharacteristically quiet as he pulls supplies out of the first aid kit, and he wordlessly holds his hand out, prompting Jon to drop his burned hand atop Martin’s outstretched palm.

“I’ll do what I can, but you should still probably go to a clinic.” Martin says, pulling out an antiseptic cream. “This is going to sting, but we need to try and prevent infection.”

Jon can only nod with eyes shut tight and grit his teeth as Martin begins smoothing the cream over his hand. It burns terribly, but, it’s an almost nice distraction from everything else that invading his thoughts. And, he thinks, at least the clear presence of pain means he’s still somewhat human. The bandaging that follows doesn’t hurt as bad, and Jon manages to pry his eyes open to watch Martin’s delicate yet thorough work.

When Martin’s sure he’s finished, after having studied every inch of Jon’s wrapped hand, Jon doesn’t pull his hand away, and Martin doesn’t let go.

“Are you alright?”

It’s the second time Martin’s uttered that single question, and Jon shakes his head, his hair slipping from where he’s had it tucked behind his ears to now frame darkly around his face. “Are you?” He asks, voice cracking slightly.

“Christ no,” Martin laughs, nervous, and his fingers thighten just a fraction around Jon’s hand. “We’ve been doing our best to get on without you here, but...” Martin drops his free hand atop Jon’s knee. “It’s just not the same without you here. Tim’s been absent more than he’s been here, Melanie... well, she’s great actually, but now she’s bound to this place like the rest of us. What’s with that anyway? Our hearts out now connected to this place?” He realizes, a breath too late, that he’s rambling and that Jon’s grimacing before him, and he stops himself with a low sigh. “Sorry, everything’s just really screwed up right now.”

“I know,” Jon manages, voice barely above a whisper. He shivers slightly, feeling suddenly cold, and Martin frowns at him for the umpteenth time in the fifteen minutes they’ve been together.

“Cold?”

Jon nods, feeling an odd chill washing over him, and Martin leans forward to brush the back of his hand to Jon’s cheek.

“You’re quite warm actually. I think you’re running a fever.”

“That would explain the splitting headache,” Jon mutters, wincing when Martin cups his palm over Jon’s injured hand once more, a little less gentle than he’s been thus far.

“Your hand is really hot. This may already be infected. Jon, you should-”

“Martin, it’s fine,” Jon says, though even he can’t quite believe himself. “I just haven’t been sleeping well. Every time I try, this overwhelming feeling of dread washes over me and constricts my lungs. I think...” He pauses, eyes dragging toward the pile of statements he’s handpicked so far. “I think having those nearby will help.”

“Jon, that’s not okay. You’ll work yourself to death.”

“I have to work, Martin,” Jon says, voice low, leaving little room for argument, and Martin nods and slowly gets to his feet.

“Fine, but promise you’ll sleep first. And that you’ll get yourself to a clinic for your hand. I’m not above following you to wherever you are staying and taking you to a clinic myself, you know.”

“I know,” Jon mumbles, a hint of a smile trying to creep at his lips. He grabs the files, careful of his hand, and starts toward the door, stopping when Martin calls out to him.

“Jon?”

He looks back, one brow raised in silent question.

“Could you... Well, do you think you could...”

“Go on, Martin,” Jon presses, voice sounding more demanding than he means for it to.

“Can you text me?” Martin flushes at the look Jon shoots him. “Not like that! Or... Well... It’s just... You disappeared, Jon, and I was really worried. Could you just text me every now and then so I’ll know you’re okay?”

Jon can feel a similar flush burning up his neck to his cheeks, and he looks away quickly and clears his throat. “Sure,” he stutters out. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

Jon forces himself out of the room, fleeing the weight of those two words that are threatening to squeeze his rapid heart into thousands of fragments. He keeps his eyes cast to the ground, moving on muscle memory alone, and he doesn’t look up, doesn’t even breathe, until he’s standing outside in the chilly air. He turns around and cranes his neck to view the building in its towering entirety, and as if it means anything or holds even the slightest inch of power, he mumbles quietly into the cold air.

“Don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt any of them.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback feeds my soul as much as reading statements feeds Jon's soul. (That sounded better in my head, lol)
> 
> Feel free to come say hi or drop a prompt off on tumblr! (@toosicktoocare)


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